


the pain is worth the pain

by x (ordinary)



Series: savages fit for a wasteland [5]
Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Biting, Bloodplay, Bondage, Choking, Collars, Consensual Violence, F/M, Hair-pulling, Knifeplay, Masochism, Morbid, Psychopathology & Sociopathy, Recreational Drug Use, Rough Sex, Sadism, Scars, Spanking, bad BDSM practices, violence kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-07
Updated: 2015-12-07
Packaged: 2018-05-05 09:56:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5371007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ordinary/pseuds/x
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Finally free of obligations, Felicia and Hancock have a moment alone together. With knives. And rope. And violence.</p>
<p>It's a good time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the pain is worth the pain

**Author's Note:**

> not too sure how to tag some of it...felicia really gets off on hancock's proficiency with murder-things.

She may be the best damn thing that's ever happened to him, but it didn't change the fact that they had a job to do, and with it came things like  _responsibilities_ and _obligations_. 

Being _responsible_ meant avoiding impulses and restraining her darker desire. It meant spending time helping people-- the little people, as it were-- who she would have preferred to ignore. It meant building up homes and helping the lost get back on their feet, being uncomfortably sociable and awkwardly kind, a smile hiding gritted teeth. With his hand on her back, eager to push her towards greatness, with an unwavering belief that she could _do this_ , Felicia endured, slowly growing more human at least in appearance and actions if not in core.

It satisfied something in the back of Hancock's hindbrain, to see the herd thrive, and his happiness satisfied something in  _hers_. There wasn't much Felicia wouldn't do to make him happy , often with a single-minded and almost feverish enthusiasm. In his hands, Hancock held the power to set the world aflame, and instead he chose to guide her towards creation rather than destruction. While he rarely actually _asked_  Felicia to do the things she did, she knew for a fact that she wouldn't be in the center of a successful revitalization of the Commonwealth without Hancock's good influence. 

So, it was a good cause. A great cause, even. 

But... it resulted in moments spent alone with Hancock being few and far between, and Felicia was fucking _over it_.

"Not getting in my way tonight, justice," she muttered to herself, rifling through the last crate for every scrap of ammo she could find. "I am going to ignore the fact that there's more shit to do, I am going to ignore the fact that I need to go clear out that water treatment plant, I am going to give a big fuck you to the Rail-fucking-road and I am going to _get fucking laid_." Felicia hastily shoved fistfuls of bobby-pins and grenades into her bag, crowing in a way that was damn near triumphant. There.  _Done_.

Christ.

Felicia's shoulders sagged as she set her bag atop a high shelf, in case a surprise radroach attack happened, although that seemed unlikely. All things considered, it wasn't such a bad place to hole up for the night: as an abandoned military bunker turned gunner hideout, it at least had a working door to keep the wasteland  _out_  and certain noises  _in_. As a bonus, it was relatively clean and well-lit, in addition to secure. Hancock had been right, again, and was probably looking for a place to crash already. Wise man.

She stretched, wincing a little at the way her joints cracked. It was in moments like these-- when she was entirely sober and not hyper-focused on getting shit done--that Felicia realized how deep her exhaustion went. Being in charge was _exhausting_ , and the urge to disguise herself and simply  _disappear_ always lingered in the back of her mind. Hancock was the only thing that kept her from it. 

Asshole. Asshole that she'd gotten attached to. Asshole that she wanted to go sleep with. In the biblical sense.

Felicia began undoing all of her armor's clasps and straps, disassembling herself piece by piece with great care. All that metal and leather were Felicia's first lines of defense against anything hostile in the wasteland, making them more precious than even chems or alcohol. She kicked off her boots without much grace, undoing the buckle of her pants and letting them slide down her thin hips, fabric pooling around her feet.

It wasn't until Felicia was half tangled in her undershirt that Hancock made his presence known, letting out a low whistle of appreciation from where he leaned in the doorway, already stripped down to his skivvies. (Unlike Felicia, he'd decided not to search every nook and cranny for anything usable.) "What's a pretty thing like yourself doing in a dump like this?"

Felicia turned, mouth already open to bite back a retort, but.

_He had the knife._

He had the knife, and was twirled it with a knowing grin, effortlessly manipulating the blade in a way that only came from extensive practice. Felicia sucked in a harsh breath, dark eyes following the elegant motions with a laser focus. The steel glinted as it caught the fluorescent lighting. It wasn't  _fair_.

She'd always admired his handiwork, right from the start. Hancock had been an absolute  _vision_ to behold, making short work of Finn with two precise stabs: no more, no less. Felicia watched him slide the blade once into the kidneys and once between the ribs before stepping back and leaving him on the ground to die, incapacitated. She shivered at the memory.

That same knife had slit a half dozen throats not ten minutes ago. A tendril of heat unfurled in her belly, knowing that his absolute and ruthless efficiency was on tap whenever she needed it.   


Felicia cleared her throat, balling up her shirt and pelting him with it half-heartedly. "Don't try to be cute," she sniped, cheeks pink, "it doesn't work very well." 

Hancock's smirk just grew wider, slinking towards her like an alley cat on the prowl. He _liked_ it when she was bitchy, when she was off kilter all because of him. Knife still in hand, he  stepped into her space like few dared to, walking her backwards until her back collided with a concrete wall, leg sliding between hers.

"Liar," he crooned, and she felt the sharp side of the knife pressed between her breasts, just holding it there with the threat of violence in his steady hand. "Now _that_ was a thing to watch, sister. You losing it over a  _knife_." 

Felicia arched up into his blade's caress, and licked her teeth, growling. "It's not _just_ about the knife, Hancock." She tilted her head down to meet Hancock's cloudy gaze, and there was a manic look in her own, a little bit of that unbridled madness that she kept locked up tight in polite company. "You know that."

He dragged the tip of it down to the bumps of her rib cage, watching lines of red well up on her pale skin, chuckling. "You wanna say what it  _is_ about, then?" He ducked his head to lap at the blood, running his tongue along her skin, holding back. She wanted  _more_ , but he was going to make her work for it. Not for his mouth, but for the pain.

"What?" she snapped, lip curled into a snarl. "Are you _really_ \--oh for fuck's sake." Felicia ground down on the leg between her thighs, giving herself a jolt of pleasure to take the edge of annoyance of. "It's about," she said, each word clipped, " _the fact that it's you_." 

Hancock ran the blade down her hipbone, where his initial was already carved in deep, still too light, still teasing. "And?" he asked, and he sounded almost  _bored._ "Don't tell me that's the best you can do, babe."

Felicia looked at him darkly, assessing her options. He was giving her an easy way and a hard way, and when had she ever taken the easy way out of anything? Lunging forward, she viciously clamped her teeth down on his shoulder, and _didn't let go_. Like a rabid mongrel, Felicia held on, biting down hard enough to draw irradiated blood. The taste of it sparked in her mouth. Hancock recoiled with a bellowing growl, and she could tell that his already thin patience (it had been so _long_ ) was swiftly evaporating, and Felicia grinned with blood smeared around her mouth and dripping down her chin. 

There was just so much abject _satisfaction_ in drawing out his desires to hurt and be hurt in return.

"Why," he gritted out, "do you always make me _do_ this." He bludgeoned her in the temple with the handle of his knife, sending her sprawling to the floor. A ringing exploded in Felicia's ears as she curled up and clutched her bleeding head, the pain sending pulses of arousal throughout her entire body. This was what she lived for.

He approached her, staring down at her like a cruel god, winding rough fingers into her hair and dragging her across the floor. She  _screamed_ , fingers scrabbling to hold onto anything: the shelving, the doorway, the walls themselves. Not for the first time, Felicia found herself grateful they'd picked somewhere with a door hardy enough that it'd hold the wildlife out and hold all their...sounds in. _They'd need it._

Felicia clawed into Hancock's hand with her own, drawing more blood with her scratching, lighting bolts of pain exploding behind her eyes. She was nothing, now, nothing and no one, reduced to feral and little more, wild in the eyes and frantic in the heart, pulse pounding erratic.

He stopped, once, and pressed the knife to her neck, gently caressing her jugular with the cold steel, a kindness in his cataract blue eyes. "Stop," he said, and there was more steel in his voice than there was in the blade, pressing down in a way that threatened to send her blood arcing through the air. Her heart pounded hard enough Felicia was sure it'd burst through her chest. "Expect better out of you." _  
_

She sucked in a furious breath, fixing Hancock with a murderous gaze. Still, she quit her flailing, even as Hancock dragged her up by the scruff of her neck and threw her into the lab. She collided with a desk, with ropes laying coiled atop it, and...a crowbar. Felicia couldn't resist the smallest of moans at the sight, looking up at Hancock with a stare both fond and _almost_ afraid.

Giving up control willingly was something she did all the time, and Hancock never had to ask for it. Felicia gave it willingly, unconditionally. But to be _restrained_ was something else entirely, in theory more than in practice. It meant having way to move as she liked. It meant sacrificing her own autonomy...

It meant trust, and for anyone else it would be an impossibility. 

After a moment of motionless silence, Hancock shoved her towards it, head tilted in curiosity. The slightest hint of doubt was creeping onto his face, and the knife in his hand ceased its movements, hanging limp in his fingers.

Felicia turned to press a kiss to Hancock's shoulders, a quiet reassurance that they were okay, despite the ferocious games they played. Felicia clamored towards it, placing her palms flat on the smooth surface, and bent at the waist, waiting for him. Anticipation coursed through her veins as quiet footsteps grew closer, and Hancock ran his fingers through her hair, soothing some of the ache he'd caused with his pulling. 

And then, ever so benevolently, he gripped her by the neck and slammed her face into the metal surface, head cracking against the surface. Felicia yelped with pain, shoulders heaving with the attempt to throw him _off her_ to no avail. He elbowed the small of her back, forcing her hips flush to the desk, no matter the cramp it'd put in her legs by staying that way. He ducked down to purr in her ear: "Good girl. Won't be any fun if you can see it coming."

"Says you," Felicia wheezed with a breathless laugh, tilting her head so that he could kiss her neck properly, sucking bites and all. Hancock always marked her skin higher than any shirt collar would cover, and she wore them with pride, as evidence that she was the one he'd chosen to make his.

Clever hands tied her down, blade set aside as a promise for later. Her wrists, first, rope binding them together before they were secured out in front of her, rope tied to the legs of the desk. Then, for her ankles, Hancock picked up the crow bar.

"We have to get  _creative_ out here," he explained, "if we wanna get our freakshow on, you dig?" He tied rope to each end of the bar, and then wrapped rope tight around her ankles, tugging it taut. "Tada! Spreader bar." Felicia had never even  _heard_ of such a thing, but as she tried to pull out of its grasp, or step backwards a little to feel it out, she decided that she liked it.

"You've been holding out on me, handsome," Felicia crooned, wiggling her ass at him in a way that was more ridiculous than enticing. "Let's get the show on the road, huh?"

Hancock just smiled, raising his hand up to crack against her ass, using his full strength. Felicia rocked forward, hips slamming into the desk _hard_ , and she moaned, the damp spot on her underwear getting a little bit more prominent. "You say that like I'm  _finished_ , sister. I'm _hurt._ " He reached into a drawer and pulled out a familiar dog collar, one that she usually kept on Dogmeat. She could tell because of the tag.

"Really?" she quipped, tugging on her wrist bindings a little, testing their give. "A collar?"

He fastened it onto her neck, pulling her hair out from under it, stroking the worn leather fondly. "Really." He threaded a length of cord through the D-ring. "Just so I can hear that lovely sound--" Hancock yanked on the makeshift leash, groaning as she choked abruptly, eyes watering, "that.  _Yeah_."

"You charmer," Felicia murmured, voice already hoarse. "I hope you don't expect me to bark."

Hancock laughed and picked up the abandoned knife, her lead still clutched in his fist. He traced a formless pattern on her back, drawing blood at random intervals, keeping the pressure unpredictable. Every time she hissed, he eased up, turning the kiss of steel into something almost feather-light. Much like her hip, Felicia's back was peppered with scars delivered by his hand: cigarette burns, lacerations, a mottling of bruises, both old and new. They were marks of his love, proof to himself as much as her.

And then, with a steady hand, he carved into the small of her back. Felicia bit back a howl, swallowing it without much success as it escaped through her teeth, eyes already watering from the sting. Hancock pressed down  _hard_ on her back, holding her still as best he could, and he could feel her kick weakly, jostling the spreader bar. "Gonna make me fuck up, sister, hold your ass  _still_." He dug in with another line, and blood spilled up again, sliding down her bony hips and staining her underwear, then ran off her side to drip onto the desk, blotting red onto old files.

" _Hancock_ ," she wept, the word broken, and Felicia heaved a great sob as tried to move her arms, tugging wildly on her bindings. "Hancock, it  _hurts_ , oh god--" Pain was all she knew, the epicenter of it aflame, raw, brutalized. Her mind fuzzed over, like being wrapped in gauze, and even as she whimpered Felicia rubbed her legs together, desperate for friction of any sort. " _Please_."

Anyone else, it would have meant stop.

But Felicia was not anyone, and so Hancock laid down his weapon and raised his hand to beat her ass for a second time, then a third, continuing until she was red from back to thigh. Each blow shook her entire frame, and she incoherently sobbed with every one, until Hancock yanked on her leash, collar going tight enough to cut her off, back bowing from the strength of Hancock's tug.

And yet, despite the pain, despite the bruises, despite the black setting in around the corners of her vision, Felicia rocked backwards to meet every blow, eagerly participating in her own ruination. As she did,  Hancock wondered again how he'd come to be so fucking lucky. He rubbed his crotch with his still stinging hand, now painfully hard. She drove him fucking  _crazy._  


Felicia quieted down to soft sobbing, and he noted how her ass already going the prettiest shades of red and violet. "Jesus, Leesha. You're gonna be the death of me." He gripped one of her ass cheeks too tight, almost kneading it. "Now, you gonna let me finish my gift?" 

She nodded, every muscle in her body tensing in preparation, and Hancock admired the lean muscle beneath her skin. She had no fat, running too lean like only a warrior running half on chems and half on fumes could be. Picking up his dagger, Hancock resumed his deliverance of pain, and centimeter by centimeter he drew into her flesh, letters taking shape. Minutes stretched into hours, and Felicia soon ran out of tears to cry, chest heaving dryly as she endured the pain that propelled her higher than any substance she could take.

As Hancock carved the last letter, finishing the final stroke of the E, Felicia came with a screaming shudder, untouched save for the steel inside her skin, prying out from her every benediction she had to give. He ducked down to kiss the marks, laving his tongue along his handiwork, and while he needed to sterilize it and bandage it-- well.

There'd be time for that later. Instead, he swiped some of that red off her skin, pressing blood-slicked fingers into her mouth, three at once, going deep. "Suck," he instructed redundantly, and he could  _feel_ Leesha roll her eyes and obey, a good sign that she was slowly coming back into her body. All the same she eagerly paid her worship to his digits, greedily accepting anything he had to give. With his free hand, he pressed his thumb into the V, pulling his fingers free just in time for her entire body to shake and clamp down, a wild animal's cry escaping from her shaking body.

"You," she groaned, "fucking  _asshole_ , I'm going to fucking--" Felicia kicked her legs again, hard enough to slam the crowbar between her legs against one of his, and he stumbled away, rubbing his shin. 

"That was just unnecessary," he whined, and advanced on her again, tugging her panties down to curl around her thighs. "You're lucky I love you enough not to cut your underwear off," he murmured, not wanting to waste hard to find garments, and it was so discordant to the moment that Felicia found herself giggle-snorting, rubbing her face against the desk, rage forgotten.

She arched her back, raising her bruised ass up like a peach on a platter. "Come on, then," Felicia said, looking over her shoulder with a sly glance. "Fuck me like you're feral."  


Felicia didn't have to tell him twice. Hancock shoved his own underwear down and leaned over her bent body, biting down on the flesh beneath a prominent shoulder blade, cock in hand. He slid in without stretching, and she was wet twice over from arousal and her orgasm, the lips of her cunt plump from pleasure. He bottomed out with a fantastic sigh, and he groped around for the lead to her collar, pulling on it enough to make her gag yet again.

And this time, he didn't let it go lax, pulling back to slam into her, hard enough to jostle the desk forward a half inch. Hancock set a brutal pace and maintained it, reveling in the way Felicia's body tensed around him, the way her face grew red from asphyxiation, eyes rolled into the back of her head, mouth open with her tongue out, panting like some sort of animal. She was perfect and she was _his_ , the word LOVED embedded into her skin. 

Hancock let the leash go lax, watching Felicia slump forward with gasping breaths, spending more time rocking back to meet him. "Come on," she growled, voice full of gravel and tears in her eyes, and with a final adrenaline-fueled burst of strength, Felicia yanked her arms hard enough to snap ropes she'd been working on fraying since they'd started. She wiggled her hands out of the bindings, and reached back to wrap a thin hand around the back of his neck, yanking him forward, until his chin was hooked over her shoulder. Hancock let her, pistoning into her without any pacing, losing himself, approaching the peak of his pleasure.

"You don't think I don't know what you wrote into me, do you?" she panted, rolling her hips and clamping down around him, coaxing out a shuddering moan from his scarred lips, and he just mutely nodded, open mouthed. "You're not very subtle. Never been, Hancock."

Felicia reached down to touch herself again, before deciding better of it and yanking Hancock's hand down to do the job instead, whining so contentedly at the touch of his textured fingers.  "Loved?" she asked, and while Felicia wasn't skeptical of the fact, she enjoyed very little more than making him say.

"Yes," he bit out, caressing her clit with two fingers, tugging on it the way she liked, grunting as he fucked his way into her with the last erratic thrusts he had. " _You are_."

She sighed in relief, basking in the way he came inside her: with a high whine and tight hold around her middle, heat coating her insides with a warmth undeniable, and there was always something so hilarious about realizing that her radiation counter would tick upwards a few dozen points from the act.

Felicia looked back at Hancock, watching him come apart entirely, wholly, beautifully, with closed eyes and a bitten lip and an absolute shaking, sadistic mess, and this was all _hers_. He was reduced to this all because of her. 

"Good," she said, toying with the strip of leather at her neck, at the marks on her wrists, and the coming bruises were settling into her skin like they belonged there. Hancock pulled out of her with great reluctance, and a trickle of come slid down her thigh, mixing with the blood from her soon to be scars. He rubbed a finger into it, transfixed for just a moment by the melding of her and him.  
And then he ducked to cut the ropes at her ankles, massaging the blood back into them with both hands, reverent. It was remarkable, the transformation, and Felicia adored that both the brutal and the affection in him were two sides of the same coin, drawn out by her and her alone.

Felicia rolled onto her back, acknowledging the intense pain of pressure on her back and ass with little more than a grimace. She looped her legs around his waist, tugging him down for an open mouthed kiss, one that was more filth than chaste. Felicia smiled, and cupped his face in her bony hands. "That was really,  _really_  fucking good."

Hancock looked at her, eyes puffy and red from crying, marks peppering her skin, the way the normally tense lines of her had relaxed, for once. His heart swelled up in his throat. "Yeah," he said, pressing his forehead to hers with a small grin, content to stay there for just a little longer. "Yeah. Yeah, it was." 

**Author's Note:**

> you can also catch me at [my tumblr](http://lurks-beneath.me/)!


End file.
